In Death
by Team Graecisso
Summary: A sad, sort of depressing little piece from Ginny's PoV. Only one single hint of HG shipping. uno. and its tiny. No spoilers!


In Death

Yet another One-Shot

By the severely strange

Pi-Rho Graecisso

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, or any other Harry Potter related things. However, I do own this plot, and a slightly torn sock.

Ginny walks into the decrepit looking house. She pushes away the condemned notice, and crosses the entire way over the threshold. Immediately, she is overpowered by a musty scent. She observes that the wood is splitting and decaying beneath her feet. As she climbs the creaky steps, spiders scuttle across to reach their webs in the corners. Ginny reaches the top, and gingerly climbs over the ancient chairs. As she turns left, tears well up in her young but weary brown eyes.

Her flame coloured hair frames her freckled face as tears trickle down her cheeks. She enters her old room with a soft cry. The room is in shambles. The once sturdy bed is broken, the sheets moth-eaten and worn thin. The little wooden dresser's paint is peeling. She hurries over to it in excited wonder. She had left so much behind...

She sits down on the rusty stool that was made for a five year old. She bends a little to gaze into the shattered glass of the mirror. Her cry turns into a harsh laugh that seems to have escaped by accident. She recalls brushing her hair, trying to look nice for...She starts crying again. The tears splash down on to the scattered contents of the desk. Ginny notices an old book, one with yellowing pages and a torn cover. It had been a quidditch handbook. She looks to the left and finds an old potion vial, filled with liquid she recalls as an underage attempt at love potion making.

Her sad eyes find an irregularly shaped box. She contorts her face in an effort to remember what the small box contains. Her breath catches as comprehension dawns. Her elegant fingers tremble slightly as she opens the dusty box. A soft cry escapes the last Weasley's lips as she gazes at the first birthday gift she had ever received from...from..Harry... It is a beautiful emerald music box that plays a melodious tune. A tune that could calm even the most restless soul.

Without hesitation, the red-head starts to twist the key, winding the box up to play the comforting song. And, on cue, the music begins. It instantly warms her blood, gives her new emotion, new hope. Once so young and naive, Ginny had wondered how the music came to be. She had wondered why it was so peaceful. She now realizes that it is the blissful tune of a phoenix.

For a moment, Ginny's fears and problems dissolve into the harmony. She is happy, at one with the world. Content.

But the pleasure ends as the music unexpectedly runs out. It takes her a minute to realize where she is, what has happened, and what has become of her love. But in a second, reality comes crashing back into her heart, as welcome and effective as Dementors. The momentary retreat to paradise makes her only more aware of what she lacks. Ironically, she notes bitterly, the taste of what could have been turns out to be more painful than just living without it.

She slams the box down, shaking with despair. She wonders, not for the first time, how she's supposed to live without them. She doesn't want to. The point of living had disappeared with her friends and family.

She is empty. She is lacking in the love she once had, the love she was promised. And she knows she can do nothing about it. She is angry at herself for returning here, to this place of agony and loss. She has entered an inescapable void in time and space. One that traps her in a world of sorrows. What she once had, and took for granted, that she can never have again. There is only one way to escape. One way out, one loophole in the never-ending thread that binds her to this life of pain. And taking her own life has never appealed to her.

Being trapped there is worse. And upon realizing that, Ginny embraced the wonderfully freeing feeling of indifference. Life, death, love, hate...who cares? With this emotion, and the faint notion that she would want to see her love again, killing herself, Ginny realized, would be easy.

She would find her promised love in death, and in death alone.

A/N: I so much wanted to make this about Vengeance. Badly. But I couldn't. That's a cheap QoV knockoff of sorts. Couldn't do. But the conclusion? took me more time than the first seven paragraphs put together. So..yeah. hope you liked it. (And yes, a lot of my own thoughts went into Ginny's P.o.V, except i don't plan on suicide. ever.)...and yes, I know it was sickeningly short. again. bite me.

Until my next stupid one-shot...

Pi


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